


What Comes Around

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Baldur's Gate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no Lord of Murder, but there's plenty of death to go around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Comes Around

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my usual cheerleaders, you guys keep me sane when I'm anything but. In a lot of ways, this is a companion piece to  <a href="http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/archive/17/twosides.html">Two Sides of the River</a> \- another ending to the story of the Throne. This time, the Bhaalchild stays around, and Mazzy is still fucking ace.
> 
> Written for Andraste

 

 

The plague spread through Faerun like wildfire, from the Throne to the Sword Coast and from there to every corner of the world. Mazzy tried not to think about the fact that it seemed to follow their escape route almost exactly. That perhaps they had brought this upon the world as a last horrible goodbye from the Lord of Murder.

Power like that didn't just dissipate and it had to weigh heavily on Levin's shoulders, the Bhaalchild who'd sworn off godhood to be with them, his friends and companions. She didn't blame him, at least not when she was conscious. They all had nightmares, him most of all, as the nights drew closer around them.

Her fingers rested on the magical pouch, enchanted to hold the precious vaccine. Not a cure, of course, not a savior at all. It was so heavy that they had to share the burden whenever they could, as little as it had in actual weight. The pouch seemed bottomless, the supply of small vials without end, but that was their precious illusion, the hope that if only they were fast enough, if only they went far enough, they could turn back the tide of death itself.

"Your eyes are very dark tonight, Paladin." Haer'Dalis sat down by her side, his eyes as black as the night around them. The bard, however, had this ethereal beauty about him that Mazzy couldn't ever hope to emulate - a halfling that tried for mysterious usually ended somewhere in the area of mentally incapacitated. 

"It's just the light," she said, trying for comedy when she felt all but humorous. The attempt fell flat in the silence between them.

"Mazzy," he said, "Your jokes are worse than Levin's, at least he has the timing to sell them."

She frowned at his words, they had an edge to them, like most of the things they said these days. The party was fraying at the edges and even Levin couldn't keep them together for much longer. He was too immersed in his own guilt to realize how much the rest of them were hurting.

"How are the others?" She asked out of resignation: she couldn't face them, couldn't bear to find out for herself that they were all teetering on the edge of total collapse.

He shrugged, "The people of this plane are strange on occasion. Xan seems almost chipper now that his darkest predictions have come true."

That got a laugh out of her, and Haer'Dalis smiled. It lit something up inside her, a small fire of hope, perhaps. "He does appear a little more smug than usual."

"Anomen, well," Haer'Dalis grinned at her with such wicked intent, it curled in her stomach like sunshine and honey-wine. "His defense is to pretend that he's invincible and all powerful. His stories are surpassing the legends of gods and titans I used to play. I wouldn't worry about him."

What Anomen lacked in subtlety he made up for in sheer willpower. Of all of them, he would be the last to lose hope, even in the face of a hopeless reality. The boundary of fantasy and reality had never stopped Anomen in anything. Mazzy shook her head, amused at the grin that just thinking of the knight would bring to her face. To think that they would be glad of him, him out of everyone they had met.

Her thoughts drifted to Valygar for a second but she shied away like a horse from a snake. The last time she'd seen his face he'd been haggard and tired, older than his years by far, eyes burning with the fever of obsession. He'd given her the vaccine - after testing it on them, of course, couldn't afford to lose any of the druids.

"Tell me about Levin."

Bhaalchild. They'd followed him to Spellhold, through the darkness of Underworld, into the Throne of the Lord of Murder. Mazzy couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd taken lead of the party, when Levin had begun to slip away, but by the time the plague had afflicted half of Athkatla he'd asked her to take care of his friends, of the quest, of him. She'd accepted with reservations. It would always be his name on the door.

"His wings are broken, have been since he turned down the power of all creation. He blames himself."

Mazzy nodded. "He would."

"If he doesn't heal," Haer'Dalis said, his voice taking on the quality of a narrator in a play. "There will be no hope for any of us. Destiny has taken its price."

There were days when the sparrow almost made sense. Mazzy let her eyes wander to the site of their bedrolls, huddled figures moving slightly in their sleep. "It's not his fault, any of this. He couldn't know that we would be faced with something only a god could master."

"Life and death itself."

"He couldn't have known," she said, trying to convince herself.

∞

Mazzy didn't avoid Trademeet on purpose. They meandered through the countryside of Amn, handing out vaccine to the healthy and a death sentence to the sick. Any place they went, the plague was there; people were feverish, begging for scraps; locked doors greeted them everywhere. They did what they could, but the disease outran them at every turn.

When it was time to seek out her home, Mazzy balked. "Perhaps we should visit Minsc," she said at the crossroads. "See how he and Viconia are doing."

It was a sensible enough suggestion. They hadn't heard anything from the outlying regions and perhaps the berserkers had a natural immunity. It would do them all good to see Minsc and Boo again, anyway.

"Trademeet is only half a day this way," Levin said, his eyes kind in a way that hurt to the bone. Mazzy squared her shoulders against the feeling of dread running down her spine.

Anomen came to her rescue. "Perhaps some of us should move on toward the mountains. I will take care of the town and their problems and be with you again before you realize I'm gone. Naturally."

His usual smug arrogance made Mazzy want to hug him. Levin, too, seemed grateful for the intervention. Trademeet had never been home to him and he didn't talk about family much since Imoen had left them to get married, but seeing their people suffer on top of everything might make him snap.

"Thanks, Anomen," she said. And meant it.

∞

"You moronic excuses for orc-spawn." Sarevok was livid, his pale skin lighting up with fever and a dark rash that hailed the final stage of the plague.

Mazzy fought the revulsion she always felt around the creature, but his state added a level of guilt and disgust she couldn't defend against. Levin sat with his brother, his adversary, holding his hand despite Sarevok's glare. Theirs was a difficult relationship - she wouldn't have had the grace to forgive all of Sarevok's transgressions. Levin had done more than that, Levin's cheerful disposition managed to spark a gruff affection in Sarevok. He'd made him human.

"We're trying to help," Mazzy threw at Sarevok, who hadn't even spared her a glance.

Sarevok coughed on a laugh. She wished he'd choke on it and then she blushed, chastising herself for the thought. "Dumb children, doing their work for them."

Anomen's hand tightened on Levin's shoulder. Something passed between them, some communication Mazzy wasn't privy to. They'd grown close, enjoying each other's weird humor - Anomen might have saved Levin from going over the edge, just by being obnoxious. She couldn't help appreciate that.

"What are you talking about?"

Sarevok focused on her and his eyes made Mazzy shiver. They were dark, glittering, and absolutely lucid. There was no fever ruling his mind. "I've been researching this plague since it began in Athkatla, I found the original victims, and I know how it spreads."

Mazzy shook her head. "And a cure? Have you found that as well?" Her words were hard, perhaps too much so, as even Xan seemed to flinch at them.

Sarevok leaned against his brother and for the first time he appeared to fully notice her. His scrutiny made Mazzy itch. "Halfling," he spat out, "Did none of this seem odd to you?"

Mazzy recoiled. "What?"

"There is nothing natural about this plague," he said. "It keeps springing up in new places with no connection, no natural flow of goods, people, services - its movements are completely erratic." His inflection made it quite obvious that there was more to the story. "Unless..."

Mazzy made an impatient gesture. "Unless?"

Sarevok's laughter chilled her to the bone. "Unless someone was carrying it around with them, bringing it to every corner of the world, like infernal delivery boys."

Mazzy froze, all her limbs heavy as lead. She leaned against the door, letting the cool stone take her weight.

"It's us."

Sarevok coughed again, his whole body trembling with the strain. But he didn't look like he was dying, not any more than usual. "Ten points to the tiny knight, now someone get me something to drink."

∞

Holding the council of merchant lords at sword point, Mazzy wondered if somewhere the gods were having a great big laugh at their expense.

"We know everything," she said, clearly so that all the people outside, clambering for a better view, could hear what she had to say. "You've used us to spread the plague, all the while pretending to save people with a vaccine that would require a refreshment every year. Something only you would be able to provide."

One of the merchants began to plead, and then he offered them all ridiculous bribes. She almost ran the man through with her sword.

"We don't want gold from you," she said, despite Levin's resigned sigh right at her side. Once a thief.

The man sputtered and flailed, as red as the blood of all the thousands of people who'd already died from the plague. Mazzy had no pity for this man, and only her oaths kept her from killing them all in blind rage.

"What we need," she said, aware of all the eyes on her back, "is an antidote."

∞

Their second journey along the sword coast wasn't any less dangerous or exhausting than the first, but hope traveled with them. Anomen and Levin grew closer still, until it was hard to find them anywhere alone. Mazzy counted the days until she could return to Athkatla and her own obnoxious, unlikely friend - Valygar would have come with them, if only the trials hadn't required his presence. Haer'Dalis had begun to compose a song of their latest misguided adventure.

And when Xan eyed the bags, filled with bottled relief like spring water, and said "This is all pointless," Mazzy laughed and laughed and laughed.

 


End file.
